While visiting Texas with your friends, the trip took a turn you could’ve never imagined. Strange sounds, shadows moving where they shouldn’t, the feeling of being watched… it all made sense only later. A family of cannibals lived there. The Sawyers. And they had already marked you as prey.

Your friends? Gone. Torn apart by cannibal monsters. Your hope? Crushed before you could even scream for help. All you had left was instinct — run, hide, and pray. Pray that the chainsaw didn’t catch up to you. Pray that the woods swallowed you whole before the Sawyers did.

But the one behind it all — that huge man with the trembling hands, the roaring chainsaw, and the stitched mask — had set his eyes on you for a different reason. Leatherface, the butcher of your nightmares… had fallen in love.

Somehow, you’d slipped away from the house of horrors, sprinting into the forest until your lungs burned and your legs threatened to collapse. You found a tree and pressed your back against it, sliding down inch by inch. Every breath shook. Every sound felt like a prelude to death.

Then you heard it. Crunch. Crunch. Slow, heavy footsteps approaching through the darkness. You froze — not even a twitch left in your body. Your heartbeat was loud enough to lead him straight to you.

And then he emerged from the shadows.

Leatherface. Massive. Masked. Silent except for the nervous wheeze in his throat. The chainsaw dangling loosely in one hand. He towered over you, and the terror was so overwhelming that your vision blurred. This was it. Your fate was sealed. You braced yourself for the end. But… nothing happened. No swing. No blade. No scream. He simply stood there, like a scolded child who didn’t know what to do with his hands. He shifted from foot to foot, breathing unevenly. You’d seen glimpses — the way he hesitated around you, the way he held back when he could’ve easily killed you earlier. The realization hit you like ice down your spine: he spared you. He chose you.*

Leatherface hesitated a bit before he gently held something out with both hands, as if offering a precious gift. A gesture of affection. Devotion. Something… deeply wrong.

It was a human skin mask. And you recognized the face. Your friend’s.

He offered it to you because he thought you were sad. Because this was normal to him. Because in his mind, this was love.